Lord of the Soul-Suckers
by Milliza
Summary: Boy-Who-Lived. Lord of Azkaban. Who the hell came up with these nicknames?


**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

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 **Lord of the Soul-Suckers**

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 **Chapter One**

It was the summer of his fifth year that Harry got a rather interesting letter from Gingotts.

 _Dear Mr. Potter,_

 _Due to a pre-existing arrangement, you are required to make an appearance_ _at Gringotts Wizarding Bank in Diagon Alley._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Gringotts Employee_ _Ragnok_

Harry flipped it over, but the back was blank and everything else was empty. It was by far the most interesting letter he'd gotten all summer. Not even Ron, Sirius, and Hermione had talked about anything half as interesting.

Which was annoying, but Harry decided not to think about that. He could use a trip to Diagon Alley anyway.

Two hours and one nauseating bus ride later, Harry changed his mind.

"Do not puke on the carpet!" the goblin leading him down the hall snapped. Harry wanted to protest, but thought opening his mouth would just prove him right.

They stopped at a door with fancy gold letters on a frosted glass window. It said Ragnock. The goblin knocked politely before he sourly pointed at Harry to go inside. It made Harry wonder if he'd done something to offend the goblins lately, and he almost turned around and left.

Seeing the evil-looking goblin behind the desk, he immediately wish he had.

"Mr. Potter," the goblin sneered, and Harry thought the door slamming behind him sounded like a death sentence. "You wished to see me?"

Not anymore he didn't.

"I got your letter," he said, taking it out and showing it to him. "It said something about an arrangement?"

"Ah, yes," the goblin drawled. "The arrangement."

Harry took a hesitant seat as Ragnock opened a desk drawer, pulling out papers that were definitely important but Harry had no clue about what. "It has been thirty-one days since the end of the Triwizarding Tournament, Mr. Potter."

Had it really been that long? He'd been trying not think about it.

"Yeah, I guess."

The goblin glared down its pointed nose at him. "You were declared Champion and received 1000 galleons. The agreement signed by Minister Unctuous Osbert in 1792 says that if the Hogwarts Champion won the Triwizardinng Tournament, that person would get Azkaban prison as a prize."

Harry gaped unattractively.

"This is the property deed," Ragnock slid the paper towards him. "Congratulations," he added dryly.

"But - but how?" Harry sputtered. He never heard about this!

"The Minister was drunk and the Hogwarts Headmaster liked to gamble. The bet was never rescinded when the last Tournament ended without a winner. Rumor has it the cockatrice injured the panel of judges because the Minister was going to lose the bet," Ragnock oh-so-casually examined his claws. "We kept the paperwork."

Harry was horrified.

"I own Azkaban prison because of a drunken bet made two hundred years ago?"

The goblin sneered. "Two hundred and three."

Harry flopped back in his chair. "Right. Two hundred and three," a pause. "Does that mean I own the dementors too?"

Ragnock gave him a look that said he was stupid.

Harry groaned. Wonderful. He owned a legion of Dementors. Like that wouldn't blow up in his face later.

A sudden thought occurred to him, and Harry couldn't quite suppress it no matter how much he wanted too. "What about..." he hesitated. "What if there had been two Hogwarts champions?"

The goblin snorted, or maybe sneezed. It wasn't a very attractive sound. "All assets and monies would have been split between you and Mr. Diggory. The title of Lord of Azkaban, however, would fall to Mr. Diggory due to age."

A Hufflepuff Lord of Azkaban. Well, that would have been weird.

Harry eyed the paperwork on the desk like it was one of Hagrid's biting books. He really didn't want it. Like, _really_ didn't want it.

"Can't you keep it?" he whined.

The goblin smirked. "No."

Grumbling, Harry accepted a quill. The next four hours were gruesome. Who knew so many papers needed his signature?

"What about the Ministry?" Harry set down his quill, stretching his fingers. "I'm surprised they're not here. Aren't they going to be mad about this?" He somehow _knew_ he'd get blamed for this later.

Ragnock sneered. "We gave the Ministry a thirty-one day notice to challenge your claim. It's not our fault they don't read their mail."

Oh. No wonder the goblins were more rude than normal.

Harry checked everything was signed. Yep, all done. He slid it back across the desk.

Ragnock's smile was positively evil.

"Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Potter," he said, sharp teeth practically splitting his face. It kinda freaked Harry out.

"Yeah," he squirmed in his seat. "Sure."

The paperwork was signed and filed away for later. Ragnock seemed especially pleased, and Harry thought he'd prefer a sneering goblin over a smiling one any day. Thinking about the deed, Harry groaned.

He was now the proud owner of Azkaban Prison - all because of a drunken bet made two hundred years ago.


End file.
